Ten Nights
by ThreeBrokenTickets
Summary: 20 years, 10 nights, a prostitute, a potions professor, a boatload of sins, and absolution. Rated M for adult themes and language. SS/OC
1. Eighteen

_This little idea popped into my head a few days ago and I just couldn't resist. This is very different from my other story, The Zed Word, which I am still working on. This promises to be a short story, only ten chapters and perhaps an epilogue. Please read and review._

_There is some dark content in this story, so please avoid if you're uncomfortable with issues of abuse. This story does contain sex (it is about a prostitute after all), but it's really not smut; more of implied situations and glossed over details. I hope this doesn't get pulled for that. _

_I own nothing. So even if you sue me, you won't win much._

* * *

**Eighteen: **January 9th, 1978

Mirielle studied herself in the mirror. Her straw colored hair hung in elaborate curls, framing her short, round face. She hated the shape of her face. No matter how skinny she was or how ill she felt, her face betrayed her and gave her a youthful and healthy appearance. Her face was punctuated with a slightly upturned, decidedly Irish nose and a smattering of faint freckles. Her eyes were her best feature. Large, deep, and hollow, the emerald-colored orbs were outlined with what were totally natural – but other girls would label as fake – long, black eyelashes. With her small mouth and thin lips, she always appeared to be slightly disturbed. But in a place like this, no one really noticed.

It was Mirielle's first night at the _Maison Fleur_ and, incidentally, her 18th birthday. The proprietor, Victor Marlow, was a man of few words and even fewer thoughts, but Victor was a good business man. He sampled each his girls exactly once, because as he put it, "a chef would not serve dinner without first having a taste." Mirielle's encounter with Victor early that day had been short, sweaty, and mechanical. Sex was not something Victor enjoyed, which may have been the creepiest thing about him.

Madame de Garce, who tended to the girls and handled negotiations, was putting the finishing touches on the girls for that night. When she got to Mirielle, she put away her cherry red lipstick and pulled out a tube of pink.

"I think innocent is the way to go with you, my dear," she said. "No one will believe you're a temptress just yet."

A squib had few choices in the magical world and Mirielle had never been taught to function in the Muggle world. She was terrified of the _Maison_, but she was also happy she was not walking the streets. Sex was not unfamiliar to Mirielle. She had lived with it longer than anyone knew.

When Madame de Garce was finished, Mirielle got lost in her own reflection again. The sharp chimes of a dinner bell awoke her from her reverie. The crude cattle call let the customers know the girls were open for business.

Mirielle followed the girls into the saloon. There, they lined up for selection. The bar had opened at eight and bell rung at nine, giving the customers plenty of time to drink. The brothel was small and only employed about 12 girls at a time. Being the _Maison Fleur_, Victor insisted that his girls all go by a flower pseudonym. Poppy, Zinnia, Amaryllis, Chrysanthemum, Daisy, Rose, Saffron, Cosmo, Lilac, Jasmine, and Dahlia were the seasoned professions. Mirielle, who had chosen simply to go by Calla, was a fresh face tonight. She was guaranteed to be a hit.

The girls lined up in two rows, with the tallest in the back. At 5'4", Mirielle stood in front watching as the men eyed her. Lingerie was the standard dress and Mirielle stood clad in an aubergine corset with tiny, black, furry trim which pushed all of her bits into the right places. Her matching shorts just barely covered the bits that Madame de Garce had spent the better part of an afternoon plucking, grooming, and smoothing. If Mirielle turned around, the crook where her legs met her bottom was completely exposed. Mirielle had decided to forgo stockings, letting her slim legs go bare. Rather than heels, Mirielle had chosen a pair of soft black ballet slippers. She did not feel like teetering around on heels all night.

Most nights, the girls would line up and the most affluent men would make their first choices. But tonight Victor announced that this was a special occasion. A regular customer, an intimidating, stiff man with long blond hair had gotten engaged.

The intimidating man, who Victor called Lucius, had brought 11 of his cronies along and was treating them all to the company of a beautiful woman. These men were the worst of the scum that frequented the _Maison_. Rumors swirled all over the streets of these men and who they had joined forces with. Though they came to the _Maison_ fully clothed, behind closed doors the girls got a glimpse of the tattoo that signified their alliances. The girls in houses were relatively safe, but the girls out on the streets were disappearing all over London.

"Gentlemen," Lucius spoke, "while this is a night to celebrate my impending nuptials, we have another reason to celebrate as well. Our newest member does not want anyone to know, but it is his 18th birthday!" The men let out a thunderous whooping, before Lucius quieted them with a wave of his hands, "and he's a virgin!" The men exploded with laughter and taunting.

Mirielle watched the man he was referring to. Tall, rail-thin, and pale stood the unknown boy. His long black hair hung limp with grease around his face hiding his black eyes. While he had been pale just moments before Lucius' announcement, a deep crimson crept over his face and his mouth affixed into a scowl. He was dressed in black slacks and a white button up shirt. _ Dressed_ might have been an overstatement, as the boy was seemingly swimming in his attire.

"Now don't be upset, Sev –" Lucius stopped himself. "John," he corrected. It was apparent they weren't all using real names. "This is a rite of passage every man must go through. How do you expect to strike fear into the hearts of peasants if you've never even fucked a woman?" The other men seemed to cheers each other and drink to that statement. "And since it's your first time, I think you should have first pick!"

The men let out another round of howls and cheers. The pale boy kept scowling at Lucius.

"C'mon John, what do you like?" Victor asked.

"Redheads," one of the men called from the back, the rest broke out into cackles of laughter.

Victor beckoned for Poppy and Saffron to step forward. Poppy, was plump with curves in all the right places and a killer smile. Her fire engine red hair was piled high atop her head, making her appear several inches taller. Saffron was thin like the pale boy, but had a set of breasts no doubt fixed by some magic. They spilled out of her teddy, their pale color contrasting with the dark green of the fabric. Her strawberry blonde hair was cut into a short, straight bob.

"Well, what do you think, John?" Lucius asked.

The pale boy avoided the Saffron and Poppy's eye line and shook his head.

Madame de Garce stepped in, placing a gentle hand on the pale boy's shoulder. "Which sounds better?" Madame de Garce asked, "wild nymphomaniac or submissive doll?" She beckoned Zinnia, clad in black leather and Dahlia, in a pink bra and panty set. Zinnia was Russian, her strong features made her look like a ferocious animal. She kept her jet black hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. Blonde Dahlia's mop of tight curls and crystal blues eyes really did make her look like a doll.

The pale boy shook his head again, and then leaned in to whisper something to Madame de Garce. "Green eyes?" she asked before crooking her neck towards Mirielle. She stuck out a fat finger and motioned for Mirielle to follow her. The pale boy and Lucius followed her as well. They would have to negotiate in Madame's office, and since Lucius was paying he was there too.

It took all of her willpower to make her legs move. Mirielle followed the group not knowing what to feel. One the one hand, this pale, greasy boy kept terrifying company, but on the other hand, he was a virgin. This made Mirielle much less scared of him.

Madame de Garce's office was, at one time, a broom closet. Her desk took up much of the room. On her side sat a leather desk chair, while a small armless couch was on the other side. Lucius and the pale boy sat on the couch, while Mirielle stood in the corner, unsure of what to do with herself.

"Have a seat, my dear," Madame said, pointing to the pale boy's lap. Mirielle nearly let out a squeal when she realized what she supposed to do. The pale boy's body stiffened as she parked her pert bottom in his lap sideways. Mirielle was sure she felt another part of him stiffen too. His hands remained firmly at his sides.

"500 for the full service," Lucius started. The man did not waste time with pleasantries.

Mirielle swallowed hard. Full service meant anything and everything

"For full service?" Madame was appalled, "It's 1000 for full service in this house."

"I suppose we could try another house," Lucius haggled.

"And run the risk of pox?" Madame asked.

"There's potions for that," Lucius said with a submissive wave.

"Not for some of what been going around out there," Madame warned. "A few those houses serve Muggles too, you wanna pick up what they've been trading? This girl is brand new here. Clean as a whistle."

"She's untouched?" Lucius asked, a murderous gleam in his eye.

"Ah, no. But she doesn't have much experience, she's practically still a child. 900."

"You and I both know age has nothing to do with experience...or innocence." Lucius placed a cold hand upon Mirielle's thigh. She flinched at his touch. The pale boy remained unmoving beneath her. "How old is she?"

"Today is her 18th birthday," Madame answered, "just like your friend here."

"Would you look at that John, it's her birthday too," Lucius gave her thigh a squeeze. "500."

"750."

"500." The blond man was unrelenting.

Madame sighed, "I've never let you have a girl for 500. What makes you think I'll give a specimen like her away for that little?"

"Group discount?" Lucius asked with an almost boyish charm.

"She's 700. Final offer. Let me remind you that you boys are a little rough on my girls. We need compensation for that. Healing potions aren't cheap these days."

"What do you think, John?" Lucius asked his companion. "Is she worth that to you?"

The pale boy took an labored breath before speaking. "Look at me," he asked, his voice silky and tender.

Mirielle turned towards him and slowly raised her eyes to meet his. Mirielle saw something in his eyes break as soon as she made eye contact.

"Pay the woman," the pale boy insisted. His newfound firmness scared Mirielle.

"What's your name, kitten?" Lucius asked, reaching up to brush Mirielle's curls behind her ears.

"Calla," she answered, refusing to make eye contact with the blond man.

"Like the lily?" Lucius asked.

The pale boy gasped almost inaudibly and placed his hands firmly on her hips.

"Yes sir." Mirielle kept her eyes pointed downwards.

Lucius turned to Madame de Garce, "700 then, I think she'll be good for my friend here."

"Good," said Madame de Garce with a smile. "I'll tell you what, 600 apiece for the rest of the lot and you boys can get to work dividing them up. Deal?

"Of course," Lucius answered. He stood up off the couch and shook Madame's hand. "John, be careful with that one. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

The pale boy and Mirielle stayed seated after Lucius had left.

"Well, you two aren't going to get busy in here. Calla, I suggest you take John to your bedroom."

"Yes, Madame," Mirielle leapt up, happy to be off his lap. The pale boy showed no intentions of moving. Mirielle reached down and put her hand in his. His hand was large and warm. "Come along, John," she said encouragingly. The pale boy stood up and let Mirielle lead him from the room. Back in the saloon, the men were busy making their selections. As Mirielle led the pale boy up the staircase, the men howled and shouted.

"Give her hell, John!" yelled one dark haired brute who was getting handsy with both Jasmine and Rose, as though he were testing the ripeness of a piece of fruit. "Show that whore just how fierce we are!"

Mirielle ignored the men and picked up the pace to her bedroom, dragging the pale boy behind her. At her bedroom door, Mirielle stopped to face her customer.

"Should I call you John?" she asked.

He was quiet for a moment while he thought. "Call me sir."

"Sir," she responded, tilting her head down.

"Keep looking at me," he said forcefully. "I want to see those green eyes."

"Yes, sir." Mirielle looked at him again. She opened the door to the room and invited him inside.

She had just moved in a few nights ago, but Mirielle had been fast at work making her bedroom her own. Mirielle had candles places all over the room, she had asked another girl to help her charm them so the wax would not melt down. In the middle of the room was an enormous dark wood canopy bed. The fabric hanging around the bed was iridescent, catching reflections in the candlelight. Her sheets were dark grey and soft to the touch. Near the window sat an oversized armchair, with a well-loved groove sagging at the center. Next to the chair stood Mirielle's favorite part. The bookshelf stood six feet tall, six feet wide and filled with all manner of Muggle literature. The books had been in the saloon before, but Mirielle was sure no one had ever read them. Madame de Garce was ready to toss them out when Mirielle arrived to save them. Being a whore could get boring; she would need something to occupy her time.

The pale boy strode to the bookcase with just a few long strides. "You read much?" he asked.

"I've only just acquired them, sir. But I plan to read them all."

The pale boy scoffed at the selection. "It's all Muggle authors," he said snottily.

"I have little use for magical text, sir" Mirielle answered.

"Squib," he wasn't asking a question.

"Practically," Mirielle explained, "some basic cleansing spells and a birth control potion are about all I can manage."

"So you became a whore?" he asked.

"I suppose so, sir," she said casting her eyes downward.

The pale boy closed the gap between them quickly and grabbed Mirielle hard by the chin. "Look at me, whore," he almost whispered. "I want to see those eyes."

"Yes sir," Mirielle gasped, her eyes fixed on his. Her green drank in his black and vice versa. After what seemed like a lifetime, he finally let go.

"Undress, whore," he demanded.

Mirielle began removing her garments slowly, but the pale boy became impatient. He reached down and forcefully ripped her corset open. Finally free from the corset, her body settled back to more natural curves. Her breasts hung a little bit lower without support, her dark brown nubs responding to the sudden draft. The pale boy reached up and grabbed a nipple, twisting it sharply.

Mirielle could not stop herself from crying out in pain

The pale boy let go of her nipple and instead cupped her breast in his hand and slowly ran his thumbs over the offending nub. "I'm sorry Calla," he soothed, "It is not my intention to hurt you."

Mirielle stared into his eyes and saw the battle he was waging. He was new to the group of men downstairs. He was intrigued by their harshness and their brute force, but he wasn't use to doing it himself. He was trying to prove something to those men down there. This might turn out to be a difficult night after all.

"Sir," Mirielle offered, "perhaps I can help." She dropped to her knees keeping her eyes trained on his while she worked him free from his slacks. Once free, she took him in her mouth, earning a guttural groan from him. As Mirielle increased her speed, the pale boy let his own rhythm take over and was thrusting away with force and a longing that scared Mirielle; however, being only 18 and a virgin, the pale boy was unable to maintain for long before he came to his full.

Mirielle cleaned him with her mouth, and then stood up hoping to be dismissed.

"Thanks," the pale boy muttered, putting himself back into his pants. He had the appearance of a flustered school boy.

"Sir," Mirielle nodded. Just then, the grunts of one of the rough men could be heard from the next room while Dahlia whimpered in pain.

"Shut up, cunt!" the man yelled followed by the sounding of a fist knocking against a skull. Dahlia's whimpers lessened, but a sharp knock on her door could be heard. "Do not damage the merchandise!" Madame de Garce hollered through the door. "You boys know better!" Madame's heels could be hard disappearing down the hallway as she left her girl to her customer.

"Silencing charm?" the pale boy asked.

"Squib, sir," Mirielle responded.

The pale boy rolled his eyes annoyed, but he picked up wand and sound-proofed Mirielle's room. "That should hold for a good long while."

"Thank you, sir," Mirielle nodded. She stood at attention waiting further instruction.

"I took a virility potion earlier, so now I think I want sex," the pale boy said matter-of-factly.

"Of c-course," Mirielle stammered, "do you want me on the bed?"

"Yes, take the rest of your clothes off and lie down," he said as he began removing his own clothing.

Mirielle undressed and lay on the bed, awaiting the pale boy. When he was fully naked, he climbed on top of Mirielle. He wasn't sure what to do next.

Mirielle reached a hand down towards his manhood. Finding him more than ready, she reasoned it was better to get it over with. She guided him to her, finally letting him take over the motions. With each thrust, he became more and more confident with the situation.

Faithfully, Mirielle kept her eyes trained on his, even when he looked away. Again, his youth and inexperience made this a short affair. Nearing his climax, he picked up speed. Finally, at his peak, he groaned and yelled "LILY!" into the headboard before collapsing on top of Mirielle.

Though he was thin, he was heavy with his full weight across Mirielle's body. Not wanting to incite him, she lay quietly waiting for him to move.

The pale boy finally stirred, pulling himself off of Mirielle. "That was amazing," he gasped, "did you… you know…come?"

Mirielle found herself truly perplexed. No man had ever asked her that question. Surely, as his whore, her pleasure was not an important detail.

"Yes, sir," she lied, hoping she didn't seem too eager.

"Good," the boy said, obviously unaware of what the joys of a woman should look (and sound) like. He rolled off the bed and began dressing himself again. "Cover yourself. Stay in the bed, whore," he demanded.

Mirielle pulled a thin silk dressing gown over herself and sat in the middle of the bed watching him dress. She found this boy fascinating. He switched from angry and controlling to kind and considerate in a mere instant. She could only assume that this boy had seen an upbringing similar to hers.

When he was fully dressed, he approached the bed grabbing Mirielle's face with both hands and pulling her in for a rough kiss. "Bye," he said, giving her one last look into her eyes. Suddenly, he turned and half ran out of the room without another word.

Mirielle stared at the door for a long time trying to make sense of their encounter. She finally curled up in her bed, closed her eyes, and slept.

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_Coming Soon: Ch. 2 – Birth: July 31__st__, 1981_

_Again, please read and review. Thank you._


	2. Birth

_I apologize, there was misprint in the last chapter. The date is indeed July 31st, 1980. Those of you that know your HP timeline can work out what events all these dates correspond to._

_There is some dark content in this story, so please avoid if you're uncomfortable with issues of abuse. This story does contain sex (it is about a prostitute after all), but it's really not smut; more of implied situations and glossed over details. I hope this doesn't get pulled for that._

_I own nothing. So even if you sue me, you won't win much._

* * *

**Birth**: July 31st, 1980

Mirielle fanned herself furiously in the middle of the July heat wave as she put the finishing touches on that evening's makeup. As she dabbed a spot of sweat just above her pink-colored lips, she thought of her first night at the _Maison_. _No one will believe you're a temptress_, Madame had told her. She was right.

Mirielle had found that with her youthful face and wide eyes, her best strategy was to play "wilting flower" rather than "bold temptress." For Mirielle, this meant she had to do a lot less acting than the other girls. Shy and reserved was how she felt, and it was how she was supposed to play it with the men. It saved her from a lot of ruthlessness the other girls routinely endured. Few men wanted to hurt a delicate child such as herself.

Despite her "wilting flower" persona, Mirielle had not been completely spared from the cruelty of a customer. After her first night with the pale boy, Lucius had returned for her.

"I found the boy downstairs within an hour of me paying for you," he told Mirielle as he tied her hands to her bedposts. "I do not believe you worked hard enough. I intend to get my money's worth." Lucius withdrew his wand, "This is going to hurt."

It had been the pale boy's silencing charm that did the trick. No one heard her scream.

Three years later, the rest of her nights at the _Maison_ had become blurred with the endless stream of men she serviced. Little had changed at the _Maison_, except for Lilac who had picked up a nasty opium habit from a customer. Mirielle watched as Lilac became consumed by her drug, slowly wasting away to nothingness. The addiction took her on a rainy afternoon in April. She looked nearly the same dead as she had alive. She had not yet been replaced.

The familiar bell clanged loudly, calling the girls to the saloon. It was a Thursday, which meant it would be slower than usual and Mirielle might get the evening off. Mirielle followed the other girls dressed in her ivory bustier and panty set and a maroon silk dressing gown. As usually, she opted for flats instead of heels. It kept up the wilting flower illusion if her patrons were able to tower over her.

Mirielle scanned the bar to study tonight's patrons. There were seven men that came to call on the _Maison Fleur_ that evening. Mirielle had earned herself a few usually customers in the past few years, most of whom were kind and gentle. She hoped if she did have to work tonight, she could count on a regular. She noticed Mr. Fenton, a widowed father of six who came for a little companionship once a month. He had taken a shining to Mirielle.

Mirielle smiled at Mr. Fenton, but someone else caught her eyes. She found two coal blacks eyes set in a pale face and shrouded with a mess of greasy black hair. It was the pale boy, looking much less like a boy.

Though he had grown no taller, the boy had earned some mass. His chest was no longer concave, his shoulders no longer narrow. His face had aged more in three short years than it rightfully should have. The makings of a deep crevice from furrowing his brow was starting to form and he appeared to have permanent scowl lines etched into the pale skin. He stared daggers into her, and Mirielle knew right then that the boy's battle between good and evil had been won by the men he had come with that night.

Since the last time she saw the pale boy, the rumors of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had grown and swirled and taken on a life of their own; however, the girls at the house remained blissfully ignorant of what was happening. "Don't much matter who is in charge when you're this low on the ladder," Rose had told Mirielle. "A whore don't have much rights in any society." The other girls nodded in agreement and left it at that.

Mirielle lowered her eyes from the pale man, hoping that he had developed a different taste in women.

"Gentlemen," Victor began, raising his glass of ice tea that he pretended was Firewhiskey, "we have 11 lovey ladies to choose from this evening. They're friendly, clean, and ready to show you all a great time."

The men grumbled in pleasure and jested with each other, except for the pale man who still trained his gaze at Mirielle.

"Now, who will have the first pick?"

A middle-aged portly man, his face red from liquor, stood up from his barstool. "I'm first choice tonight," he slurred. Slowly making his way to the ladies, he studied the creatures he had before him.

The red man stopped in front of Mirielle and bent down to sniff at her hair. After a long whiff, he shook his head and moved on to Daisy. He sniffed her hair as well, but disagreed with her scent as well. He continued on down the girls before finally finding something he liked. He bent his head to Jasmine's hair and moaned with pleasure.

He placed his arm around Jasmine's shoulder and said, "This is the one."

"Fine choice!" boomed Victor, "Our lovely Madame will take care of you right through there." He pointed to her office door. The red man took Jasmine's arm and dragged her into the office. "Who's next?" Victor beamed.

Two more men took their turns, picking right over Mirielle in favor of someone else. Zinnia and Chrysanthemum were the next two choices.

Mr. Fenton stood up from his barstool. "I'm next," he said gently to Victor. He strode to Mirielle. "Would you, dear Calla, accompany me tonight?"

Mirielle smiled at Fenton, blessing him from saving her from the pale man tonight. "Of course," she replied, taking his arm in hers.

"No," a commanding voice called from the bar. The men, the girls, and Victor all turned their attention to the pale man. Mirielle continued to avoid his eye line.

"Excuse me, Mr. …?" Victor asked.

"Smith," the pale man finished. "I came tonight specifically for Calla. I will pay for her tonight." He strode over the Mirielle and calmly pushed Mr. Fenton away, while continuing to leer at Mirielle.

"Well Mr. Smith, we have a first come, first serve policy at the _Maison Fleur_," Victor explained. "Mr. Fenton here has the right to choose his company first."

The pale man reached inside his robe pocket and pulled out a bag that jingled with coinage. "1000," he said, tossing the bag to Victor, never taking his eyes off Mirielle.

"Mr. Smith, this is highly unorthodox – ," Madame de Garce began. She had poked her head out of her office when the saloon had gone quiet.

"I paid less for her three years ago," he hissed, still not breaking Mirielle's gaze. "She can't be worth anymore than that now."

"That is beside the point, Mr. Sm –," Madame was cut off.

"Madame, I believe this transaction is over! Mr. Smith has outpaid Mr. Fenton." Victor's love of money overruled Madame's desire for decorum. "Mr. Smith, Calla is yours for the evening. Please, take your leave."

The pale man motioned for Mirielle to follow him as he stormed up the staircase, robes billowing again. Mirielle practically had to run to keep up with him.

Mirielle heard Victor attempting to smooth over the situation with the customer as she ran after the pale man. "Mr. Fenton, may I suggest Dahlia? She and Calla are sisters," he lied. "And I can tell you their talents run in the family."

The pale man stopped outside her bedroom door and waited for Mirielle to catch up. "Do you remember the rules of last time?" he asked gruffly.

"Sir, I should maintain eye contact," Mirielle said finally looking at him, watching his black eyes dance.

The pale man did not respond. He waited for Mirielle to open the door, then silently entered the room. Mirielle followed and closed the door behind her.

In the past three years, Mirielle had learned a lot about customers. First, the more they drank, the less able they were to perform. She had saved herself from many night spent on her back. Second, they did not like to see the hominess of her rooms. Mirielle had removed the books and the book shelf. She kept a few favorites hidden under her bed, but she now visited the Muggle library every day to do her reading. Finally, she had learned that a lot of men were not seeking sex. They wanted a friendly face and someone to talk to. Mirielle no longer initiated or offered the sex, but instead waited for her customers to take the first step. At least a third of her customers that did not drink themselves into a stupor ended up just talking with her.

"Sir, may I pour you a drink?" Mirielle asked.

"Hmm," the pale man responded to indicate yes.

Mirielle poured him a large glass of Firewhiskey. When she handed him the glass, the pale man clasped her hands around the glass. His hands were warm and rough. Mirielle shivered at his touch.

"Please sit," she said, motioning to the loveseat she had put in her room to replace the armchair where she used to read.

The pale man sat rod-straight, showing no signs of relaxing. Mirielle curled up beside him.

"It's been a while," she began, reaching out and tucking a lock of greasy hair behind the pale man's ears.

The pale man froze with her familiar touch. "Three years," he growled.

"It's amazing how nothing can change and everything can change in three years," Mirielle mused.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Well, you certainly have changed," she smiled, "but here I am, still at the _Maison_, and once again in your company."

"You've gotten rid of your books," he said.

"Ah, yes. I thought it better that my room had fewer distractions," she explained.

"Foolish," he said. "Books will keep you smart."

"Not much need for smarts in here, sir," she answered kindly, though offended at his statement.

"What do you need in here?" he asked with morbid amusement.

"Pretty face and a warm body," she answered. Mirielle wondered where her need for honesty came from with this man. "Seems to be all I've needed so far."

"That's a lie," the pale man countered. "You also need deceit."

"How do you mean?" Mirielle asked, already knowing the answer.

"Everything you do here is a lie, Calla. You pretend to like these men. To want these men. Money does not change hands in the bedroom, so that he can keep on pretending that he is wanted. And that's the worst possible thing you can do to a man. Make him believe he is worthy."

Mirielle raised her eyebrows at the pale man. Everything he said was the truth. She simply nodded her head in agreement at the pale man.

"Last time I was here, you told me that I have made you come. That was a lie, wasn't it?" He was becoming angry now.

"Yes, sir," Mirielle said, "I apologize. I thought you wanted to hear that."

"Foolish whore," he said, downing his Firewhiskey and standing up. Mirielle followed behind him. The pale man took out his wand. With a flick and an incantation, he silenced the room.

"Sir, Madame asked that we no longer silence our rooms. In case you or I need assistance," Mirielle explained the policy that Madame had no hope of enforcing.

The pale man scrunched his face at Mirielle for moment, before reeling a hand back and slapping her hard across the cheek.

Mirielle lost her balance in the aftermath of his blow. Crashing to the ground, her right hip made contact with the hard flooring sending a shooting pain down her leg.

"YOU will not tell ME what to do!" he seethed as he hauled Mirielle back onto her feet. "You will not look me in the eyes and you will address me as Master! Understood?"

"Yes," Mirielle squeaked.

"What was that, whore?"

"Yes Master," Mirielle said with more conviction.

"Good." The pale man set his wand at the ready. "_Crucio_!" he yelled with more force than necessary.

Mirielle's skin was set ablaze. Every nerve ending screamed in agony. She would have screamed, but her voice trapped itself in her throat. And just as suddenly, it all left her.

As her nerve endings calmed, the world came back into focus. The pale man knelt beside her on the floor.

"Are you glad I stopped?" he asked.

Mirielle could not answer the man, her voice still trapped inside her lungs.

"Answer me!" he yelled as he balled his fist and landed a blow right against Mirielle's temple.

"Gaahh," Mirielle whimpered when he hit her.

"ANSWER ME!" he yelled again, hitting her even harder.

"YES!" she finally screamed, "yes."

Standing up, the pale man let a kick go sailing into her ribs. The sickening crunch told Mirielle he had broken at least a few ribs. The pale man readied his wand again. "_Crucio_."

Again, Mirielle writhed on the floor, but her voice had not become trapped this round. She screamed with everything she had. The pale man stopped, but only to delivered another swift kick to her ribs before continuing on with his assault.

After what seemed like hours, Mirielle's voice had grown hoarse and her body threatened to quit. Her mind danced dangerously over the edge, the effects of the curse threatening to destroy her consciousness.

The pale man relented his curses, but he was not done yet. He picked Mirielle up of the floor with great ease and carried her to the bed.

"Get on all fours," he commanded. Mirielle obeyed, even though her knees threatening to give out beneath. With another flick of his wand, Mirielle was naked. The pale man stood behind her. Rubbing his length along her sensitive slit, he entered her suddenly and without lubrication.

A new pain tore into Mirielle as he worked away at her. With each thrust, the ache inside of her grew until her very core roared with anguish. The pale man worked in her for nearly 30 minutes until he started towards his peak.

The pale man yelled with fury as he came to his climax. He emptied himself into Mirielle and remained inside her until his body began to withdraw. Exhausted and panting, he pushed Mirielle down onto her stomach then threw himself down on the bed beside her. His breathing became steadied before he was finally silent. He lay frozen on the bed for what seemed like a long time.

Minutes later, Mirielle's body finally moved as she curled herself into a ball on the end of the bed. She winced in pain as curled up, knowing she had at least a few broken ribs. She licked her tongue out to taste the blood on her lips. Patches of skin had already begun to purple under his blows. Her nerve endings still danced with the lindering effects of the Cruciatus Curse, and the occasionally spasms caused Mirielle's muscle to quake.

The pale man reached out a hand and settled it upon Mirielle's calf. With a newfound tenderness, he stroked the sensitive skin.

Mirielle recoiled at his touch, but it hurt so much to move she couldn't get away from him.

Mirielle was suddenly struggling for air, but as she tried to cough, another round of agony tore through her entire body. She cried out as she coughed, sending a spray of blood across the bed sheet.

The pale man sat up quickly. He looked at his handiwork with unmoved eyes. He lifted himself off the bed and began dressing himself as Mirielle finally let herself succumb to tears. She became hysterical between sobbing and coughing fits. She kept expectorating blood from her lungs until her hands were covered in it.

Once dressed, the pale man returned to the bedside. "Quiet," he said.

Mirielle continued her sobbing.

"QUIET!" he commanded.

But Mirielle could not stop herself. She finally let herself go, not caring what this brute would do her.

The pale man withdrew his wand. "Do you want another round?" he seethed.

Mirielle was racked with sobs and could not answer him.

"_Crucio_!" he said calmly.

As the pain tore through her yet again, Mirielle didn't scream. She had nothing left. This round was a short one, but the pain continued on after he stopped. As soon as he stopped, she dissolved into hysterics again.

"I said quiet, whore. Do you want me to kill you?" he said, wand posed for the attack.

Mirielle could not answer him.

"Do you want to die?" he asked again grabbing Mirielle's jaw in his free hand.

Mirielle was overcome with a bloody coughing fit. "Y-yes," she finally sputtered. "Just make it go away."

The pale man let go of her jaw and backed away. He stared at Mirielle before he tucked his wand away and removed a small vial from his pocket. He sat on the bed beside Mirielle and gathered her in his arms. His touch sent her into another bout of spasms. Sitting her across his lap, he removed the stopper and tipped it to her lips.

"Fuck you," Mirielle whispered, enticing him to finish what he had started.

"Shut up, you foolish girl. Drink." His voice had returned the silky tones he used before he launched his assault.

Defeated, Mirielle drank. The liquid was unlike any healing potion Mirielle had ever had. As soon as it passed her lips, Mirielle's nerves were extinguished. A cool, quiet, calm spread throughout her entire body. As her body healed, she sat up and drank with more vigor until the vial was empty.

The pale man sat her back down on the bed and went into Mirielle's bathroom. There he found a healing salve.

"Snake oil," he proclaimed, shaking his head. "You can brew much better salve yourself," he told Mirielle.

"Squib," she responded dreamily, high on the effects of his potion.

"I'll send you better," he responded. With a turn and a swish of his robes, he was gone.

Mirielle curled into herself, without much pain this time. She too exhausted to change the soiled bedding. She closed her eyes and let the darkness swallow her whole.

* * *

_Coming Soon: Ch. 3 – Death: November 1__st__, 1980_


	3. Death

_Forgive me again dear readers, but I have confused the dates once more. The third chapter does indeed take place in 1981, not 1980._

_There is some dark content in this story, so please avoid if you're uncomfortable with issues of abuse. This story does contain sex (it is about a prostitute after all), but it's really not smut; more of implied situations and glossed over details. I hope this doesn't get pulled for that. (ok ok, there's some smut in this chapter)._

_I own nothing. So even if you sue me, you won't win much._

* * *

**Death**: November 1st, 1981

Mirielle braced herself against the cold, early November morning as she exited the _Maison_. In the growing tension of the war between good and evil, business had slowed to a crawl. Citizens were no longer leaving their houses after dark, and those who did certainly did not want to find themselves in Knockturn Alley.

The good news: the girls at the _Maison_ got a well-deserved break. The bad news: money was running out. Victor insisted the girls take their wares to the streets. Zinnia was the only one brave enough to venture out. She never returned.

Mirielle readjusted the fleur-de-lis pin at her lapel. It was a quiet sign to observant wizards that she indeed was available and the _Maison Fleur_ was her house. It also served to stop Mirielle and the other girls from running away from the _Maison_. Magically stuck, Victor could find her anywhere in the world if she tried to run. Even if she ditched her clothing, the pin would stick into her skin. Tagged like cattle.

The street was empty, for Knockturn Alley did its sneakiest business at night and its merchants tended to sleep late. She took a sharp turn and emerged onto Diagon Alley. There, the street was abuzz like Mirielle had never seen before. Witches and wizards were drinking and laughing and dancing in the streets, despite the bitter early morning chill.

A tall, grey-haired witch dressed all in purple came up to Mirielle and handed her a white rose. "Pretty girl, good has triumphed over evil! Spread the joy, spread the good!" The old woman danced around Mirielle and sang, "He is dead, he is gone. The boy lives!"

"Who is dead?" Mirielle asked.

"Dear girl, where have you been? It's all over the Prophet this morning. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is dead. Gone. Defeated by a baby no less," the woman stopped dancing long enough to explain. "Spread the joy, pretty girl. Life can begin again for us."

Mirielle forced a smile at the old witch and watched the old woman dance away. When she was sure the witch was not looking, she dropped her rose in the nearest bin. Mirielle made her way to Witch Hazel's, a tiny cafe next to Flourish and Blotts and bought herself a latte and a newspaper. Finding a secluded table in the back, she removed her jacket and settled in to read. As she removed her jacket, the fleur-de-lis pin jumped to the collar of her cardigan. Victor was insistent upon good advertising.

Engrossed in her reading, the hustle of the cafe around Mirielle faded. Mirielle furrowed her brow as the Prophet unfolded the entire story of the Potter family, the steps that had been taken to protect them, and the miracle that their son survived. Further into the newspaper, Mirielle found a list of suspected Death Eaters that were wanted for questioning. Mirielle took her time surveying each picture, recognizing more than a few as customers of the _Maison_. Her heart fell into her stomach when she came upon her uncle's likeness.

Melanion Mulciber stared up from his picture with as much rage and evil has Mirielle had had the misfortune to experience first-hand.

Mirielle's mother, born Felicia Mulciber, had been abjured by her family after falling in love with a Muggle-born. Mirielle's parents lived on the outskirts of the wizarding community, trying to their best to avoid the oppression of her family. Her parents worked as suppliers for apothecaries all over the continent. Most of Mirielle's childhood had been spent traveling through Europe, chasing down magical ingredients and breeding newts and lacewing flies for consumption.

After Seeley and Felicia Vandermere unexpectedly and messily took their own lives, the five year-old Mirielle was found roaming the French countryside by a farmer. Taken in by Muggle police, Melanion was the only family member they had been able to contact. The language barrier and a lack of documentation on the girl gave the police good enough reason to hand her right over.

The Ministry of Magic would hardly bother themselves with custody cases when a family member came forth to claim the child, particularly if that family member was pureblood with untold wealth. With the signature of a few documents, Mirielle was placed in the Mulciber home and the Ministry forgot she had ever existed.

Mirielle felt the bile rising the back of her throat as she stared at his photograph. Her hands began to shake and the corners of her vision started fading. Trying not to catch the attention of those around her, Mirielle crumpled the newspaper in her hands, threw her cloak over a crooked arm, and ran out the door. Outside the cafe, the streets were even more full than before. It was just before 10am, but Diagon Alley and its patrons were awash with Butterbeers. Some wizards had obviously been into something stronger.

Mirielle scoffed at the celebration around and threw the paper into the nearest bin. As she let go, a red hot spark released from her index finger, igniting the paper instantly. As the paper landed in the bottom of the bin, its contents were immediately up in flames. Mirielle stood shocked as a crimson fire danced from the bin.

Witches and wizards stopped to watch Mirielle's unintended light show. People surrounded the bin and began to sing and dance around it. All over the streets, witches and wizards began lighting bins with multi-colored flames.

"Well done girly," yelled a particularly warty witch.

"I didn't do that," Mirielle explained. "I can't do that," Mirielle said to herself staring at her hands. The warty witch was no longer paying attention to Mirielle and had joined in the bin burning celebrations.

Shaking the fire from her mind, Mirielle turned around and ran right into a column of black. Turning her eyes upwards, Mirielle's heart dropped to her stomach for the second time that morning. She found herself face-to-face with the pale man.

Locked into his gaze, the jubilee around her faded. The pale man's face showed no emotion, but his eyes danced with something Mirielle could not decipher. After a lifetime locked in stare, Mirielle was brought back to the streets when the pale man grabbed both of her wrists.

"Calla," he purred softly.

"No," Mirielle pleaded, trying to contort her arms out of his grasps. "You stay the hell away from me!" she said hushed, not wanting to attract the attention of anyone else. Her cloak fell to the ground as she continued to contort away from him.

"Calla please," he began, "let me explain...I mean, what happened...I don't..." The pale man was stammering.

"No," she whimpered again, trying to escape his hands.

"Please, I have to tell you-"

"NO!" she suddenly yelled, drawing the attention she was trying to avoid. "Let me go! LET GO!" she demanded as the two began to draw a crowd.

"You better let go of her, boy," the warty witch came to Mirielle's aid.

The pale man did not acknowledge the old woman at her side and held firm to Mirielle.

"Calla," the pale man pleaded again.

"Let her go, son," a wizard cautioned the pale man.

"Leave the poor innocent girl alone," the warty witch demanded again.

"Innocent?" snorted another wizard chimed in, "I know that pin. She's one of Victor Marlow's girls, probably nicked something off him. Thieving whores," he said shaking his head. "What did you take, girl?"

The warty witch slowly left Mirielle's side. Mirielle could feel the mood of the crowd sour against her as she fought back the sting of tears

"Girls like you oughta be locked up in Azkaban," an unknown witch growled.

"You're not welcome here," another snarled.

When the crowd actually began to hiss, the pale man finally released his grip. Mirielle did not take a moment to hesitate. She fought her way through the crowd, enduring jeers all the way through. Mirielle ducked into the Leaky Cauldron, through the pub, and back out onto the Muggle streets of London.

The pale man was behind her in an instant. "Calla," he called again.

Mirielle stopped to face her pursuer. "Stop it!" she screamed, attracting the attention of quite a few Muggles, who did not dare make eye contact, but instead watched from the corners of their eyes. The pale man, in his black cloak, appeared very strange in this place, but Mirielle in her cardigan, jeans, and boots fit in quite well. The pale man stopped walking after and Mirielle took the chance to get a few steps between them.

"Please, let me apologize," he pleaded.

"Apologize for what? Hexing me? Beating me? Raping me?" Mirielle yelled. Every Muggle within earshot stopped to watch this peculiar couple and they were now openly gawking at them.

The pale man closed the gap between them. "Quiet," he growled.

"No! I will not be quiet any longer," Mirielle yelled. "I've stayed quiet for far too long now."

The pale man was silent for a beat. "I am sorry," he said barely above a whisper.

"For raping me?" she asked, hoping to incite the crowd, "or beating me?"

"I did not rape you," the pale man explained, raising his voice, "I paid for you, whore."

Mirielle heard her audience collectively suck air through their teeth. This society did not appreciate her career either. They began to avert their eyes again. Embarrassed, Mirielle turned from the pale man. He grabbed her hand.

Mirielle turned back, her hatred written on her face, but she resigned to let him speak.

"Calla, you have to listen," he said as he ran his thumb over her knuckles.

"No, I do not," she whimpered.

"Please," he asked one final time.

"The _Maison,_" she responded.

He furrowed his brow at her.

"You pay for me at the _Maison_, then you may speak whatever nonsense you like. You can rape me, beat me, break me, or kill me. But you _cannot_ force me to listen. Understood?"

The pale studied her face for a moment. "Understood." He gave her hand one last squeeze before letting her go. Mirielle walked away from him as quickly as possible. The subtle audience parted to let her pass, Mirielle heard their whispers surround her.

She did not dare turn, but she knew the pale man watched her leave. Only when she was certain he was gone did she turn to survey the streets. Confirming he had really disappeared, Mirielle ducked into an alleyway, crumpled herself on the ground and cried.

* * *

Mirielle had managed to squeeze herself into a leather bustier that once belonged to Zinnia. "Waste not, want not," the other girls explained as they helped themselves to Zinnia's belongings when she never came home. She paired it with a lacy pair of black panties.

Saffron was helping Mirielle put the finishing touches on a heavy smoky eye. "You sure, girly?" Saffron asked, "kinda kills the 'innocent' vibe."

"I'm sure," Mirielle said, lining her lips in red. She knew the pale man was coming for her. She wanted to let him know she was not the wilting flower she had let herself become before. She slipped her feet into five-inch stilettos. She would not have to crank her neck quite so far to look him in the face.

Victor was buzzing excitedly around the girls' powder room. The wizarding world was celebrating tonight. That meant customers. He had already turned wizards away at the door, letting only those flashing the largest bags of galleons cross the threshold.

"C'mon now, ladies," he herded them to the saloon as soon as he rang the cattle bell. Gathering every ounce of courage she could muster, Mirielle entered the saloon, smoldering through her heavy, black eyeliner.

The pale man sat at the bar in the furthest barstool. Despite his face being hidden, his presence still demanded the attention of the all the girls. They had all seen Mirielle's face the morning after the pale man's last visit. While his cures had helped curb Mirielle's recovery time, her pretty face wore his handiwork for several days.

Dahlia gave Mirielle a worried look, but Mirielle dismissed it with a wave. Taking her spot with the other girls, she watched the pale man intently.

"Good evening, good evening," Victor bellowed cheerfully. "Glad that you gentlemen chose the _Maison Fleur_ to celebrate this wondrous occasion. I can give you all my personal guarantee that my girls will not disappoint. As is tradition, I believe that my highest bidder, Mr. Smith, has first choice."

The pale man still sat the bar, nursing his Firewhiskey. "Calla," he said before downing the bitter liquid.

Victor shot Mirielle a raised eyebrow. While he liked money, Mirielle was far from paid for, meaning she was too precious to risk someone dangerous. Again, Mirielle waved away the concerns. She strode to the pale man, grabbed a hold of his arm and led him into Madame's office.

The pale man collapsed into Madame's couch, Mirielle perched herself stiffly beside him, managing not to touch him. Madame narrowed her eyes at him. She disliked his lack of decorum during his last visit more than how he had treated Mirielle.

"Mr. Smith," she began, "you've decided to visit us again."

The pale man nodded curtly.

"Calla has become quite precious to us here at the _Maison_, I am afraid she's gone up in price." Madame was not stupid, the _Maison_ needed the money, so Mirielle was as good as paid for. But Madame was going to haggle for as much as possible, if for no other reason than to irritate the man.

The pale man removed a small black bag from his robes. "1200," he proffered. He was not going to attempt the haggle, which was sure t0 irritate Madame right back.

Mirielle stared at his payment. She typically went for $500-600 for the night. This was over twice her going rate.

"1200?" Madame asked. No one had paid that much for a girl since Chrysanthemum's virginity was sold.

The pale man's face showed no expression. "That is all I have. I am afraid if you hold out for more, I will be forced to leave."

"Very well," Madame relented, annoyance thick in her voice. "She's yours. Now leave."

The pale man quickly stood and strode from the room, his robes billowing in his usual fashion. Mirielle caught Madame's eye. "You'll come if I call?" she asked, thinking of the small opal pendant she wore around her neck. A Charms Master had created them for the girls. If rubbed, it alerted Victor and Madame that a girl was in distress.

"Of course," Madame answered, counting the pale man's money.

Mirielle shook her head at her boss. She knew that Madame would likely not interrupt if that meant his payment would be forfeited. Mirielle turned and followed her patron to her bedroom.

At her bedroom, Mirielle stopped once again. She had a powerful sense of deja vu. "Sir?" she ventured, "or is it Master?"

"Severus," she pale man offered.

Mirielle was taken aback that he had offered his real name. "Severus," she answered nodding. She opened her bedroom door and invited him in with a wave of her hand.

Once insider her room, Severus cast a silencing spell. Mirielle's hand immediately went to her pendant. Three taps and a clockwise rub would supposedly bring her assistance. "I'm sorry," he said, "but that was mostly to drown out the sounds of the other girls." Severus began undoing the myriad of buttons that held his robes together.

Mirielle nodded, but kept the pendant between her fingers. "Firewhiskey?" she offered her companion.

His head moved mere millimeters, but in a nod indicating he wished to partake. He finally removed his robes, standing in a white button up and black slacks.

Mirielle walked to the minibar and poured him a generous glass, hoping that he might already be drunk and she could send him into a state that rendered him unable to perform. She turned to hand him the tumbler, but found the terrifying man kneeling in a huddled mass on the floor. He covered his face with is hands, but the slightest tremor in his shoulders told Mirielle that he was, indeed, sobbing.

She put the tumbler down onto the minibar and approached him carefully. She stood directly in front of him, finally towering over him. He gave no indication that he knew she was there. Tentatively, Mirielle placed her right palm against his forehead, letting her fingers rest in his hair.

Severus froze for only a moment, before snaking his arms around Mirielle's waist and burying his face against her stomach. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. She's dead," he sobbed. "She's dead."

Mirielle remembered the story she read in the Prophet that morning. She recalled the Potter woman's picture. Green eyes that matched Mirielle's almost identically had stared up from the flimsy paper. Lily was her name. The name he had cried out their first time together. The papers said that the Potters were under protection after an unknown informant, believed to be a reformed Death Eater, informed the Order that the Potters were at risk.

Mirielle's eyes bulged as she connected the dots. She took in the enormity of what she had just learned before wrapping her arms around her patron's head, pulling him even closer her.

The pair remained like that until his sobs subsided. Mirielle felt him pulling away, so she sank to her knees. She put her hands on either side of his face, bringing his eyes to meet hers. Another look at those eyes, and he was overcome with another round of sobs. Mirielle pulled him into her neck, letting this head rest on her shoulders. Stroking his neck with gentle fingers, she tenderly shushed his cries.

When the sobs left him again, he picked up his head and crashed his lips into Mirielle's. The kiss was chaste, almost polite. Mirielle strangely found herself wanting to let him have whatever he desired. She sucked his lower lip between her teeth and ran a devilish tongue across his mouth.

Severus wasted no time in deepening the kiss. His tongue delved deep into Mirielle's mouth, roving erratically over her tongue. Mirielle tasted whiskey and tears. The pair remained locked in their kiss for several minutes, only breaking to come up for air.

Once the kiss was broken, Severus pulled himself from Mirielle. "I did not come for this tonight," he explained. "I need to apologize. I need you to forgive me."

"I forgive you," she whispered, leaning in to kiss him again.

Anger and confusion spread across his face as he pushed her away. "Why would you do that?" he hissed at her "I am a monster."

"No, you're not," she argued calmly.

"Yes. I tortured you. Beat you. Raped you. For no reason," he turned his eyes downward as he confessed.

"A monster would never show remorse," Mirielle responded, an image of her uncle flashing briefly in her head. "You came here seeking forgiveness. And now you will not even accept it. Those are not the actions of an evil man."

"How can you forgive me so easily?" he asked, looking into her eyes again.

Mirielle thought for a moment. "No one, in my entire life, has ever apologized to me. For anything. I am not going to throw away the only genuine apology I may ever receive."

The scowl did not disappear from Severus' face.

"Severus," Mirielle said his name huskily, "I accept your apology." Mirielle locked her lips with his again. This time he did not protest. Deepening the kiss, Mirielle felt a very unfamiliar ache growing in her belly.

As Severus placed his hands at her waist, Mirielle let out a surprising moan. Slowly, Mirielle came the realization that she was becoming aroused, a feeling she had never had before in her life. She felt a wetness creep into her loins as she became addicted to her patron's touch.

Overcome with new sensations, she pressed herself against her patron, longing for his touch. Responding her lead, Severus ran a hand up to the breast, sweeping his thumb against the sensitive nub. Underneath the leather fabric, her nipple responded forcefully. The sensations were suddenly too much. Mirielle broke the kiss rising to her feet, pulling Severus after her.

For safety's sake, she kicked her stiletto's off, which left an unfortunate gap between her and her mate. Severus responded by cupping his hands under her bum and lifting her up. Mirielle wrapped her short legs around his waist, feeling herself rub again his growing arousal. "Bed" she whispered in his ear, feeling she would not be able to contain herself any longer.

Severus listened to her demands and deposited her gently on the bed. Mirielle had hoped her would lie on top of her, but instead he took a step back from the bed. "I did not come here for this tonight," he said sadly, "I paid so I could apologize to you."

Frustrated, Mirielle got up on her knees. "And pay you did. But this is free. I want this," she said, crooking a finger into the waistband of his slacks and pulling him closer. Severus did not need more convincing than that. He reached behind Mirielle and swiftly undid the ties holding her bustier together. Her breast sprang free and Severus eagerly took one erect nipple in his mouth.

Mirielle moaned and leaned back into the bed bringing the pale man with her. As his tongue set to work Mirielle snuck her hands against his chest and began to undo the buttons from his shirt.

"Too many buttons," she breathed heavily in between mounting waves of pleasure. Quite cruelly, Severus stopped working magic with his tongue and sat up leaning over the woman beneath him. His hands made quick work of the buttons and his shirt was off. Mirielle ran an appreciative hand over his warm, lean flesh, letting her fingers tangle in his sparse chest hair.

Severus responded by hooking a finger on either side of her lace panties and pulling hard. Mirielle lifted her hips to let him free her of extraneous clothing. She gasped as cool air rushed into her hot loins. Severus let loose a flurry of kisses onto her hipbones edging closer and closer to the damp tangle of curls in between her legs.

Mirielle was being pushed dangerously close to her limit when Severus suddenly stopped kissing. Mirielle felt the first eye-rolling wave overtake her as Severus plunged his tongue into her very core. She continued climaxing around his tongue as he worked in her. He drank her hungrily and did not stop until her body released another wave of spasms.

Mirielle smiled as Severus appeared by her head again. He leaned in for another kiss and Mirielle could taste herself on him. Mirielle stopped him, hooking a leg behind his back and maneuvering herself until she was on top of him.

From this new position, Mirielle easily released the fasteners on his pants, freeing him of clothes quickly. She found him quite ready. Severus sat up and Mirielle poised herself above him. She swiftly impaled herself, letting him fill her completely.

"Calla," he moaned as she retreated her first sweet thrust.

Mirielle paused at the top of his member, refusing to move again.

Severus opened his eyes and looked at Mirielle. "We can stop," he insisted.

"No, but...my name is Mirielle," she explained quietly.

The pale man nodded, but Mirielle moved no further. He leaned in planting a kiss against her ear, whispering her name in his silky tone.

That was all Mirielle needed. She moved downward, letting him fill her completely again. The two quickly found a rhythm, working with some degree of urgency. Mirielle moaned nothings as she worked towards another peak, finally reaching her end by yelling "Severus!"

Her climax was met with his final thrust, a moan, and his seed spilling into her. Mirielle relaxed herself against him, letting the lingering spasms work through her body.

She whimpered as his fullness was pulled from her. They both collapsed onto the bed.

The lay still for several minutes, but Severus suddenly sat up.

Mirielle reached out a hand, placing it against his backside.

"Four A.M." she said, still a little out of breath.

"I'm sorry?" her companion asked.

"Victor kicks everyone out at four. It's barely eleven," she explained.

"You want me to stay?" he asked.

"I insist."

* * *

_Phew! That was a long one. Don't get too comfy here though, this story is far from a HEA._

_Coming Soon: Ch. 4 – Anniversary – October 31st, 1982_

_Thank you to everyone that is following or favorited this story. It's so encouraging to keep reading if I know people are liking it._


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